


The Experiment: Part VIII

by Ttime42



Series: Experiment [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brothers, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Gen Work, Holmes Brothers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, John is not in this part, Kid Fic, Kid Mycroft, Kid Sherlock, Mother-Son Relationship, Other, Parent-Child Relationship, Spanking, Swearing, this fic is light and fluffy I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ttime42/pseuds/Ttime42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: There's a scene in this chapter of what a character *thinks* is a possible suicide. It's light and cartoonish in nature, but I wanted to give a head's up to anyone who would be bothered by that. I updated the tags to reflect this.</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

"Give it back, _Mycroft!"_ Seven year old Sherlock reached as high as he could, trying to knock the item out of his brother's grasp. They were just off the kitchen in their parent's home, having just come home from school.

"You know you're not supposed to have it, little brother." Mycroft told him in a smug voice. Red beard stood beside Sherlock, wagging his tail and staring at Mycroft.

"Give it back!" He growled. "I need that‒I had it first!"

"And you shouldn't have it all." Mrs. Pollyanna Holmes strode past her boys and plucked the eight inch meat cleaver out of Mycroft's hand, completely unfazed as she placed it on the top shelf in a kitchen cabinet.

"Mum." Sherlock wandered after her. "I need it for an experim‒ "

"‒Sherlock, love, your father and I have spoken to you about the knives."

He scowled and she went on. "They're very big and dangerous and though you're an extremely bright boy, everyone has accidents. I don't want you to hurt yourself." She kissed his forehead and went to put the kettle on.

"He was going to use it to cut up earthworms." Mycroft announced.

"That's horrible." She said to her son. "Dead, of course?"

"Of course." Sherlock said in an innocent voice, wringing his fingers.

"Hm. Marginally better." She gave him what both boys simply called The Look. It was a sort of expression that managed to say 'I know when you're being naughty and lying so don't even try any funny business with me, young man.' The brothers were very familiar with it. Sherlock conceded this victory and grabbed an apple out of the bowl in the center of the table.

"When your father gets home tonight," she said, "we're going to sit down and have a family meeting after supper."

"Why?" Mycroft asked.

"Because I have some news."

"Are you having a baby?" Sherlock asked, eyes wide. She poured hot water into three mugs.

"No, you fool." Mycroft scoffed, pushing him. "She's too old."

"Excuse me?" She looked up, leveling a disbelieving stare at her oldest.

"I just," The twelve year old blinked and stammered, his face turning pink when faced with having to explain rudimentary female biology at his mother. "I mean, well…"

"No," she said to Sherlock, "I'm not pregnant."

"Mum?" Sherlock watched her make them all tea. "Can we get pizza for supper?"

"I don't see why not."

* * *

 

A few hours later, the four Holmes' were seated at the dining table, the leavings of dinner scattered on each of their plates. Sherlock was slipping bits of crust to the dog under the table.

"Now then," Mrs. Holmes said, "your father and I have already discussed this a bit, but…I've been offered a job teaching maths at the local college."

"Mum, that's great!" Mycroft said.

"Thank you, dear. It's part time, three days a week."

"Will you be here when we get home from school?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, not on Mondays, Tuesdays, or Fridays." She said.

"So does that mean I'll be in charge of Sherlock?" Mycroft asked. His grin was bright enough to light a small planet.

"No." Mr. Holmes said firmly. "We're bringing in a nanny."

"A nanny?!" Sherlock yelped. Oh no, this was all wrong. His mother was going to be away for days and days and she was leaving them with a total stranger? "What about dad? Is he leaving his job?"

"No, son." Mr. Holmes said. "My job stays the same."

"Mum," Mycroft said, "I'm too old for a nanny."

"You most certainly are not." She countered. "We want someone to be here in case anything goes wrong."

"Nothing will go wro‒ "

"‒You're getting a nanny." Mr. Holmes said.

"But we’ll be sure to get someone you boys get along with."

"I don't want a stupid old nanny‒I want you to stay home." Sherlock declared. The Holmes' exchanged a glance and his mother spoke to him.

"Sherlock, love, we'll be getting more money."

"Sure, son, and your mother has been wanting to get back into maths. You're both old enough now to be more self sufficient, and your mother's very keen."

"You don't want to be here with us?" Sherlock asked, his voice trembling.

"That's not it at all." She said to him. "We love you both very much and I would love to spend every moment of every day with you, but a second job will be very useful."

"I hate it!" Sherlock snapped. He got off his chair and stormed from the room. "I hate the job and the dumb nanny!" He went up the steps, Redbeard on his heels, and slammed the door to his bedroom. A brief silence lingered over the table.

"I'll go talk to him." Mrs. Holmes stood and followed him and Mycroft looked at his father.

"What do you think about this?" Mr. Holmes asked.

"I think it's good." He said matter of factly. "Mum wants the job and the money. I," he paused, wanting to break his idea to his father in a way that wouldn't be shot down. "I wouldn't mind being on my own a bit more‒I know the _nanny_ will be here, but I could make Sherlock and myself the after school tea and a snack or such."

"I believe you can." Mr. Holmes said with a grin.

"Or maybe…" Mycroft said, "go out after class?"

"To where?"

The boy shrugged, thinking of the chemist's up the road from the school that sold cigarettes. It was right next to the music shop where Sherlock took his violin lessons. Mycroft's classmate Ryan said the lady who worked at the chemist's would sell them to anyone. "Maybe the library?" He told his father.

"Hm. The library?" It was tempting to think he was lying, but knowing his intelligent son, he actually would go to the library. "We'll see." He said.

* * *

 

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Holmes knocked his bedroom door. No answer. She opened it up and found him laying on his bed, having thrown himself into his pillow dramatically. "Sweetie…" She came into the room and sat on the edge of his bed, patting his back. "Talk to me?"

"I don't like this."

"I know, darling, but it'll be good for us. Why don't you like it?"

He turned his face out of his pillow. "Because I'll never see you."

"That's not true! Come here." She pulled at his arm and he allowed himself to be piled onto her warm lap. He tucked into a ball and stared at the pink floral pattern on her shirt. "We'll see each other plenty. "I'll be home with dad, and I'll be here Wednesday and Thursday when you come home from school, and weekends too. You'll see me every day, love, alright?"

"Mmm….I guess." His voice was small and she kissed the top of his curly dark head.

"Good. And anytime you want to, you come talk to me or dad about anything that's bothering you, alright?"

He nodded. "kay."

"I love you, you know."

"I love you too, mummy…" He reached up to hug her.

* * *

 

Mr. Holmes was in bed that evening with a crossword, dark glasses perched on his nose. His wife got in beside him and threw the duvet over her legs, rubbing hand cream on her arms.

"How's Sherlock doing?" Mr. Holmes asked.

"Oh, he's feeling better about it, I think. I found someone we can interview this weekend. Ms. Clemens next door recommended her."

"The boys hate Nancy Clemens." Mr. Holmes said, writing an answer in the boxes.

"Well, yes, but maybe they won't hate the nanny."

"Just don't tell them it was Nancy who suggested it."

"Goodnight, dear." Mrs. Holmes lay down with a sigh and turned off her light.

* * *

 

That Saturday morning, Sherlock and Mycroft were hiding in the shadows at the top of the steps, watching as their parents escorted a young blonde Uni-age woman into the parlor.

"She has cats." Sherlock said. "Two."

"She's a size 6 shoe." Mycroft murmured at him.

"Go, Redbeard." Sherlock said, patting the dog. "Get intel and report back to us."

Redbeard woofed and trotted down the steps, tail wagging. He sniffed the woman's purse and licked her hand, then trotted back upstairs.

"Well?" Sherlock whispered. Redbeard sat down and panted happily, glad to be beside his master again. "He likes her." Sherlock groaned.

"He likes everyone."

"Boys!" Mrs. Holmes called. "Come down here please."

"I don't want a nanny, Myc." Sherlock moaned.

"Me neither. Just be civil for now. We'll figure something out."

"'kay."

They both went downstairs.

"Boys," mummy said, "this is Lindsey Miller."

"Hello Lindsey, my name is Mycroft and this is my little brother, Sherlock." He extended his hand to shake.

"Oh my goodness‒aren't you two the most adorable things I've ever seen?!" Lindsey squeaked and pinched Mycroft's cheek, ignoring the outstretched hand entirely.

Sherlock gave his father a pathetic look and rolled his eyes.

"Ah, Lindsey is a student." Mrs. Holmes continued. "She's getting her degree in…?"

"Pottery." She said proudly.

"Useful." Sherlock said. Mycroft stomped on his foot.

"Ow!" Sherlock yelped.

"Father," Mycroft said, putting a hand over Sherlock's mouth, "there's some homework we need to attend to, may we be excused?"

"Oh my God, they speak so well! How old are they? Five and ten?"

"I'm _twelve."_ Mycroft bit out.

"Go." Mr. Holmes said. Both boys hurried up the steps.

"Oh God!" Sherlock wailed behind his brother's closed door. "Myc, they can't stick us with _her_!"

"I'm afraid they might."

"What if we say we hate her?"

"They'll tell us to give her a chance."

"What if we say she punches us in the face and locks us in the cellar?"

"Sherlock! Don't joke about that kind of thing!"

Redbeard licked Sherlock's hand.

"Redbeard, kill!" Sherlock pointed at the hallway and the dog wagged his tail happily, watching Sherlock with wide, dark eyes. "Oh it was worth a shot." He threw himself on Mycroft's bed and curled up to face the wall. "This is awful."

"Fear not, brother. We won't have to be stuck with someone we don't like. We'll gather more information tomorrow and come up with a plan."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Lindsey started on Monday and was there when both boys arrived home from school.

"Hi guys!" She waved, a huge smile on her face as they walked in the door.

"Hi Lindsey." Mycroft said, hanging his coat and taking off his shoes. Sherlock set his bag down and crouched to pet Redbeard.

"You guys look so cute in your little uniforms and your little ties and jackets!"

"Uh, thanks." Mycroft said.

"What did you put on my dog?" Sherlock blurted, staring down at the bright pink bandana around Redbeard's neck.

"It's a bandana! I made it."

"I never would have guessed." Sherlock said, staring down at the pink glittering fabric that was for some inexplicable reason adorned with kittens.

"I have the finger paints all set up, come on." She went back to the kitchen and both brothers looked at each other.

"I outgrew finger paints when I was one." Sherlock said.

"We'll figure something out." Mycroft patted his shoulder. He nodded and they both went into the kitchen. The table was covered in paper and all kinds of paints were set up.

"Dig in, guys!" She said.

"I have some homework to do…" Mycroft said, eying the paint with a raised brow.

"Oh you can do that later! Just a picture each."

Sherlock rolled his sleeves up and grabbed a piece of paper and the red paint. "There you go, Sherlock! Come on Mike."

Mycroft grit his teeth but let the annoying honorific slide. He took another sheet of paper and the blue and green paint and they set to work while Lindsey made them tea. "What are you doing there, Sherly?" She asked, setting two mugs down on the table.

"Painting a picture." He said, smearing the red rather harder than necessary.

"Is that…blood?"

Mycroft glanced up at his brother's picture.

"Yes, it is." Sherlock informed her. "It's a murder scene. There's the body," he pointed, "and there's the police, and the murder weapon is under that skip there but the police haven't seen it yet."

"Who's that?" She asked, pointing at a tall figure with a magnifying glass.

"That's a detective."

"Why is he dressed differently than the officers?"

"Because he's smarter than them!" Sherlock said, happily painting in Redbeard beside the detective.

Mycroft smirked and looked back at his painting: a detailed world map.

"Oh. Well." She cleared her throat. "What are you making, Mike?"

"It's the earth." He told her curtly.

"That's not where India is." She said, pointing.

"Yes it is." Mycroft said. "It's between Pakistan and Bangladesh."

"You labeled The Alps wrong." She said, pointing at the mountain range north of India.

"I did not." He said. "Those are the Himalayas. The Alps, are there." He gestured toward France and made a dot to represent Calcutta.

"No they're not."

"Yes they are." He said in an almost bored tone.

"I'm older than you, I'm right."

"Older doesn't mean smarter." Mycroft said, drawing out the Nepalese border.

She made an annoyed sound. "Oh yeah? Well, for that‒you're not getting a snack." She said in a snippy tone.

"Why on earth not?" Mycroft said, turning to her with his painty hands.

"Because you are being rude to me."

"We're _really_ not." Sherlock piped.

"You called me dumb." She said.

"No I didn't." Mycroft said. "I never called you anything."

"You're still not getting a snack."

"Yes we are." Mycroft ground out. "We always have something after school." As if to prove the point, his stomach grumbled.

"No you're not. I'm punishing you and if you disobey me, I'll tell your dad."

"You're being unreasonable." Mycroft said. "I never called you a name. I was merely pointing out the fallacy in your logic."

Sherlock stopped painting and was watching her with narrow, angry eyes, his hands drenched in red.

"You said you were smarter than me."

"Well, in this case, it appears I am." Mycroft said with a little shrug.

"Go to your room." She snapped.

"Lindsey‒"

"Go, Mycroft‒and wait there until your parents get home."

Mycroft didn't move, stunned as he was, and Lindsey grabbed him by the bicep.

This was a mistake. Sherlock ran, using both hands to shove her off of him. "Don't you touch him!" He shrieked.

Lindsey gasped. "My shirt! You little shit!"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft snapped. "Don't!"

Redbeard was barking, leaping around and howling. Mycroft rolled his eyes and ran to the sink to wash his hands. Sherlock, realizing he had ammo, held his hands out at the nanny like he was a bogeyman and chased her screaming into the parlor. "Don't touch me!" She yelled. "Get away!" Redbeard darted after and Mycroft swore under his breath, drying his clean hands.

"Sherlock Holmes!" He yelled it in his best approximation of their mother's tone but Sherlock didn't budge. Lindsey was up on the back of the sofa and Sherlock was waving his hands at her and Mycroft felt a little bit bad for the girl. He grabbed him by the back of the shirt and marched him into the kitchen. "Wash your hands." He commanded. " _Now_."

"But‒"

"No, just listen to me." Mycroft went back into the parlor to try and placate her.

"Lindsey, I'm sorry about your shirt, let's wash it before the stain sets."

"You just want to see me topless you little pervert!" She snapped, getting off the sofa.

"What? No I don't. I'm trying to salvage your blouse."

"Ulgh‒I'm done!" She snapped. She went to the foyer and grabbed her purse. "I'm never coming back here again!" She left through the front door and slammed it shut.

"Solves that problem." Mycroft shrugged and went back into the kitchen, where Sherlock was stuffing leftover fish and chips into his mouth, his hands clean of red.

"Did she leave?" He asked, gulping the food.

"Yes. Slow down, don't choke‒and warm it up first! It's disgusting cold."

"No it's not." Sherlock bit a chip and Mycroft grabbed another one, taking a bite and sighing.

"Mum and dad are going to be upset." Sherlock said solemnly.

"Yes, they are."

"Do you think we'll get spanked, My?"

"I hope not, brother." Mycroft hugged him sideways. "We can sometimes get mother to listen to reason."

* * *

 

Mycroft called his father at work a few minutes later, explaining what had happened.

 _"You're home alone?"_ He asked.

"Yes." Both boys were on separate lines to each speak with him.

Mr. Holmes sighed. " _It's already after five. I'll probably be home before your mother. She might have to stay late on her first day. Will you be alright on your own or should I ask a neighbor to check in?"_

"No, father, we're fine here alone for a couple hours. We'll do homework."

_"Sherlock? Does that sound good to you?"_

"Yes, dad."

_"You boys be good. I'm trusting you. We're going to talk about this more tonight, understand?"_

"Yes, father."

They hung up and Mycroft sighed.

"Let's do experiments!" Sherlock crowed.

"No‒go on upstairs." Mycroft said. "Work on your homework with Redbeard, I'll clean up in here."

Sherlock made a face but relented, snapping his fingers at the dog to follow him up.

* * *

 

That evening found both boys standing in front of their parents in the parlor, who were seated on the sofa. Their father looked serious and their mother, stern and stormy. Mycroft explained the whole story once again.

"He really didn't call her names, mum." Sherlock said. Both boys knew it was their mother they had to convince. She handed down the discipline in the home most of the time.

"And why did you get her shirt all covered in paint, Sherlock?" She asked, "that was very naughty."

"She was grabbing Mycroft!" He said. "She grabbed his arm like this‒" he grabbed his brother's bicep hard and yanked him. "She was trying to send him to his room and deny us snacks." Sherlock yanked him again just because he could and Mycroft tugged out of his grasp.

"We weren't all that rude to her, mum. I was just correcting her geography. She denied us food because she wanted the upper hand."

"She called me a little shit." Sherlock said.

"She _what?!"_

"She did, mum." Mycroft said, "when he got paint on her. She called me a pervert too, when I suggested we wash her shirt."

Mr. Holmes and his wife made eye contact and her severe expression melted a little. The boys were prone to mischief, but they‒Mycroft rather‒rarely lied, and this story, silly as it was, sounded entirely plausible. "Alright, you two." She said, "we'll need to find another nanny. You won't be punished for this, but if you chase off the next one, you'll both regret it. Understand?"

"Yes, mum." They both murmured.

"Good boys." She stood and hugged them both, "now, what's for supper?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's a scene in this chapter of what a character *thinks* is a possible suicide. It's light and cartoonish in nature, but I wanted to give a head's up to anyone who would be bothered by that. I updated the tags to reflect this.

They stayed home alone after school the next day, as there was no way to get someone else in so quickly. Mycroft was desperate to prove he could handle being on his own.

"I swear, dad, I can be at home with Sherlock for a few hours." He said that morning, packing up his bag before school.

His father looked amused.

"I can get him home every day in one piece, why not stay in the house with him three days too?"

"We'll see how it goes today." Mr. Holmes said, patting his back.

Mrs. Holmes, however, wasn't hearing it. "They need a nanny." She said to her husband that evening in bed. "Sure, they were fine today‒the house still stands, but in a few weeks' time, once the novelty has worn off they'll be up to their tricks again."

"I suppose you're right." Mr. Holmes said, once again with the crossword in his lap. "It would be nice to give Mycroft more responsibility though. He's so keen."

"I agree. We can think about it. Goodnight, darling."

They managed to get someone in for an interview on Wednesday night, a Ms. Elma Twaddle. Mr. Holmes' colleague knew her from a book club.

"We're so glad you could make it on short notice." Mrs. Holmes said graciously, escorting the older woman inside that night. "We're in a bit of a tight spot."

Ms. Twaddle wore a long, grey dress and her pewter hair was tied back in a tight bun. Her black rectangular purse was shiny and stiff with a big silver buckle and she gripped it on front of her stomach like a shield. Her mouth was set in such a way that made it look like she had the taste of lemon wearing off her tongue.

"Hm." Ms. Twaddle glanced around the home and Mrs. Holmes realized belatedly that they hadn't cleaned up in a few days. A pile of Mycroft's school books was splayed across the floor and Sherlock was growing some sort of concoction of leaves in various colored tubes of water on the end of the dining room table, and there was also a pile of tests she had to grade for her class beside a cold cup of yesterday's coffee. The drying rack was up by the radiator and the house still smelled of dinner. And on second though the rug could us a good vacuuming. _Oh well, if she has children, she'll know._

Redbeard trotted into the room with a _woof._

"Oh. A dog." She tightened her grip on her purse.

"That's Redbeard. He's utterly harmless." Mrs. Holmes rubbed his ears and the dog panted.

"Hm."

"Why don't we have a seat?"

They sat in the parlor with cups of tea. "My husband had to work late," Mrs. Holmes apologized, "and I'm afraid the boys aren't in tonight. Sherlock has a violin lesson and Mycroft went with..." She looked at her watch. Ms. Twaddle said nothing and Mrs. Holmes went over the days and hours and asked if she had any questions.

"Can I call you Elma?"

"Ms. Twaddle if you don't mind. I don't have questions. It seems fairly simple. I have two girls myself. Both grown now. Morticians."

"Splendid!" Mrs. Holmes paused, trying to say delicately how intelligent her sons were. "My boys," she began, "are very smart. _Very_ smart."

Ms. Twaddle nodded indulgently.

"I know every parent thinks their child is a little beautiful genius, but mine‒"

"‒I'm sure they are." Ms. Twaddle said. "I've nannied a great deal of 'genius' children."

Mrs. Holmes stared at her, almost entirely certain she was being patronized. If she was being honest, she didn't really care for this woman and the way she sniffed at their home, but they needed _someone_.

"They study University-level texts and get extra tutoring during classes."

"They must be very smart."

"They are."

"I'm sure I can handle your boys, Mrs. Holmes. I have years of experience."

 _Not with mine._ Mrs. Holmes thought. She let the thought pass and smiled, even as a seed of doubt about the success of this whole venture planted itself in her mind.

They stared at each other a moment. Redbeard came into the room and sniffed at Ms. Twaddle's teacup.

"Redbeard!" Mrs. Holmes snipped. She clicked her fingers and the big dog lay down. "Well," Mrs. Holmes said. "You would begin this Friday around half two or three o'clock, the boys get a snack after classes…" Mrs. Holmes went through a few more things and Ms. Twaddle spoke a bit more about herself and promised she'd be there. She left the home and that was that.

"Oh well." Mrs. Holmes stacked Mycroft's books and opened the window to air out the home. "We'll see."

* * *

 

"Twaddle?" Sherlock snickered on the way home from school on Friday. He was walking with Mycroft today, as they decided they would take their time getting home. If this lady was at all like Lindsey, then the more time spent away from the home the better. Usually they took the bus, but it was getting warmer out and the walk was pleasant after being trapped inside all day.

"Don't give her cheek unless she deserves it. Remember what mum said would happen if we chased her off."

Sherlock kicked a stone. "Yeah."

They arrived home around half three.

"You're late." Was the first thing Ms. Twaddle said to them.

"My apologies." Mycroft said, dropping his backpack on the floor. Sherlock crouched to pet an excited Redbeard. "We walked today since it was so nice out."

"You should have let me know."

"Again, "Mycroft smiled. "I apologize. That was my fault. We haven't met properly. My name is Mycroft and this is Sherlock." He gestured to his brother, now wrestling on the floor with the dog.

"Sherlock," she admonished, "get off the dirty floor and away from that animal‒you'll get your uniform stained."

"It's Friday‒who cares!" He giggled at Redbeard.

"C'mon, Sherlock." Mycroft said. "Get up."

"And you?" Ms. Twaddle pointed at him, then the back pack, "bring that to your bedroom and come back down for a snack." She turned into the kitchen and both boys exchanged a glance. They obeyed though and brought their things upstairs, changed clothes, and headed back to the kitchen.

"Sit." Ms. Twaddle‒she hadn't even properly introduce herself‒had set two plates on the table with forks and napkins.

The boys sat, unused to such a formal after-school snack. Ms. Twaddle took a pot off the stove and ladled heaps of boiled vegetables onto their plates. Sherlock's mouth fell open at the pile of carrots and celery and asparagus and onion that steamed on his plate.

"Eat it all and then you can do your homework." She said, setting the pot back on the stove and pouring two tall glasses of milk for each boy.

"Um, can I have some tea?" Sherlock asked, staring at the milk, unable to believe that this was happening.

"You're both far too young for tea." She said.

"Mum lets us have tea after class..." Mycroft said hesitantly, not wanting to upset her.

"And 'mum' isn't here." She said. Mycroft wanted to argue, but stopped himself. " _Chase off the next one and you'll both regret it."_ That's what mum had said. Mycroft picked up his fork and stabbed a limp carrot. It flopped over on the fork and fell onto the plate. Sherlock gingerly bit into a piece of celery and it turned to mush in his mouth.

"Can I be excused?" He said.

"Not until you eat." Ms. Twaddle turned away to wash the pot. Sherlock grabbed a handful of vegetables and held them under the table for Redbeard. He sniffed them, then whined and back away. Mycroft watched him simply fling the vegetables on the floor under the table and he stifled a laugh.

"What's funny?" Ms. Twaddle whirled around.

"Nothing." Mycroft said. "I coughed."

She didn't look convinced as she turned around to continue the dishes.

She made them sit there for ten more minutes, though neither boy ate much.

"May we watch television?" Mycroft asked politely.

"Yes. For twenty minutes."

He stood up and grabbed his brother, hauling him into the other room.

"Twenty minutes? That's not even long enough for one show!" Sherlock complained to him.

"Who cares?" He whispered back. "We'll get away from her for twenty minutes."

"I want tea." Sherlock said.

"Me too."

Five minutes later they heard a shrill, "turn that down! It's too loud!"

Sherlock turned the volume down until they could barely hear it and had to sit at the very edge of the sofa, straining.

"This is ridiculous." Mycroft said, standing. "I can't hear a thing. I'm going upstairs." He left and Sherlock reluctantly turned the machine off and followed his brother. Ms. Twaddle was in the parlor reading, ignoring them both, and Sherlock went to his bedroom to practice his violin. He'd placed the instrument on his shoulder and had been playing all of three minutes when Ms. Twaddle appeared in his doorway.

"Sherlock! That's very loud. Wait until I leave to practice."

Sherlock stared at her. "I feel like practicing now."

"Wait until your parents get home‒that thing makes such a racket."

Sherlock puffed up in indignation. "Teacher says I'm the best student he has."

"He's being kind, dear. Do a _quiet_ activity." She went back downstairs and Sherlock scowled at the doorway. He wanted to shout but he had to be good for the cranky woman. His mum would be unhappy if she left them alone. He put the instrument down and went to his plant experiment on the dining room table, turning on the light and examining the results so far.

Ms. Twaddle was wiping down the kitchen table in the next room and she made a gasping sound.

"Sherlock!" She snapped.

The boy rolled his eyes. "What?" He marked a few results down in a notebook.

"How did these vegetables get all over the floor?"

"I threw them there." He said, carefully clipping off a piece of crimson leaf and taping it into his notes. Her hand appeared under his face and she yanked his notebook away. "Hey!" He yelled. "Give me that!"

"You are a very rude child." She scolded.

"And I hate you!" He snapped, his temper flying hot and boiling now. "Give me my notebook back!"

"No." She said firmly.

He stood up on the chair to make himself taller and shouted down at her. "Give it back!"

"Get down from there, you'll fall." She reached out to help him down and he stormed up onto the table.

"Sherlock Holmes!"

He picked up an empty test tube and flung it at the wall. It exploded. He stared at the destruction in satisfaction before letting out a yelp as she pulled him bodily off the table.

"I cannot believe you! Disobedient child!" She pushed him into the kitchen by himself and locked the door behind. He flung himself at it. "Let me out! You're awful!"

"Not until you can be civil and quiet."

"I _was_ being quiet!" Sherlock stomped his foot, very much at the end of his rope. "You took my notebook! You're not letting us do anything. No telly, no tea, no violin, no experiments!"

"You stay in there and think about how rude you were." She said to him.

"I wasn't rude!" He wailed, trying not to cry. "This is completely unfair!"

"Hush!"

Sherlock sniffled on the other side of the door and gave it one final _bang_ with his fist. Stupid Ms. Twat! He whirled around and crossed his arms, then his gaze fell on the knife drawer. He had a sudden fiendish idea that made him grin and rub his hands together. "I'll show _her."_ He muttered devilishly.

Mycroft came down the steps a little while later. He'd heard some shouting before, and was about to investigate when it fell quiet. Sherlock must have relented whatever argument was going on. Ms. Twaddle was on the sofa with her book now and all was calm. Mycroft went downstairs. No one, just Redbeard asleep on the sofa. He went back up to the bedrooms and peeked into his brother' s room. It was dark and empty. Curious now, he went back to the parlor.

"Where's Sherlock?" He asked.

"He's being punished." She said.

Mycroft's heart started pounding. "Where is he."

"The kitchen." She said.

Mycroft looked at the closed door.

"You locked him in the kitchen? With the _knives!_?"

She put her book down and Mycroft knocked on the locked door. "Sherlock?"

"Sherlock!"

"Oh, he's fine‒"

"‒you don't know that for sure." Mycroft took a deep breath and unlocked the door, letting it swing open.

Red. There was red splattered everywhere. On the floor, the cabinets, on the table, and in the midst of it on the cream tile floor lay Sherlock, splayed still and silent like an offering, knives clutched in both hands, looking for all the world like he was dead.

Mycroft of course detected the scent of tomato and acrylic paint instantly, and the empty ketchup bottle on the floor was obvious. He was clearly breathing and as Mycroft rolled his eyes at the drama of it all, Ms. Twaddle _shrieked._

"Call 999!" She stumbled back out of the room.

"Ms. Twaddle, he's fine‒"

"He's bleeding, can't you see?!"

"No he's not, it‒"

He was interrupted by Sherlock giggling. Hard. He sat up, the knives still clutched in his hands, laughing like he didn't have a care in the world. Mycroft pinched the ridge of his nose and took a fortifying breath.

"He's mad." She said, staring down at Sherlock, still laughing like a loon.

"Welcome to my world." Mycroft grumbled. "My brother has a rather insane sense of humor at times." He walked into the room and held his hand out. Sherlock passed over the knives carefully and Mycroft put them in the sink to be washed.

"I apologize for this." Mycroft said, taking a few dishrags and flinging one at his laughing brother, the implication to wipe up clear. "I‒"

The front door slammed.

Mycroft threw the rag down and ran to the foyer, opening the door just in time to see Ms. Twaddle peeling out of the drive in her car and down the street.

Mycroft stood there, wondering if that could have possibly gone worse when suddenly Sherlock came flying past, armed with handfuls of boiled vegetables. He flung them at her car as she drove off and they exploded on the doors like tiny boiled bombs. Mycroft burst into laughter and collapsed in the foyer, tears streaming down his face as he giggled. Sherlock joined him, laughing so hard he collapsed. He kicked the door closed and fell beside his brother, clutching his belly and hooting with delight.

"Oh‒oh Sherlock…" He snorted. They lay there on the cool ground, catching their breath and panting.

"Mum's going to be so upset." Sherlock said once they'd sobered.

"Yes."

"She was worse than Lindsey!"

"Yes." Mycroft rolled to his feet and helped his brother up.

"Why did you do that?" He asked, brushing dust from Sherlock's shirt. "Now mum is going to blow the roof off."

"But Ms. Twat was awful! Good riddance I say."

"Yeah, and I say go clean up the kitchen. And yourself."

"What are you going to do?"

"We have to call mum, Sherlock."

"Can't we call dad?" He asked, fidgeting.

"Yeah. Yeah, let's call dad."

* * *

 

That evening found Mycroft reading at his desk while in the bedroom next door, the sounds of his mum giving Sherlock one hell of a spanking were emanating through the walls.

"Mum!" He wailed. "We can buy more ketchup!"

 _Whack! Whack!_ "Sherlock, love of my heart, this isn't about the bleeding _ketchup_! You pretended to be _dead!_ That was an awful thing to do to _anyone_!"

More wailing and carrying on.

Mycroft sighed. He didn't like hearing his brother getting it, of course, but he wouldn't trade places with him for all the gold in Rome. He was excused, as he'd had more of a crowd control role in this whole debacle. He smiled to himself. It had been a little funny and bizarre and morbid, in a Sherlock kind of way. The whacking stopped after a few moments and then mummy was knocking on his open door. He looked up.

"Downstairs, please." She looked tired and he could see a teary Sherlock behind her, holding her hand and wiping his face.

"Yep." Mycroft stood up and followed them both to the parlor. He sat on the sofa and Sherlock gingerly sat beside him, a tissue in his hand and very faint fresh lipstick kisses on his face from their mother. Mr. Holmes appeared, having cleaned up the shattered test tube bits, and stood beside his wife. Mummy looked down on the boys sternly.

"Two nannies!" She said in a firm voice. "Two nannies in _one week_. That has to be some kind of record don't you think dear?" She turned to her husband.

"Mm, yes I think it is."

"Mum, they were awful." Mycroft said. "Lindsey treated us like we were four and Ms. Twat had hearing problems."

Sherlock snickered and blew his nose.

"Her name is _Twaddle._ " Mrs. Holmes said severely. "Do you two think this is funny?"

"No‒no mum."

Sherlock shook his head.

"Sherlock," She said in a marginally kinder tone, "it sounds like you were the instigator for both events that made them leave, is this correct?"

"I..." He knew he was. He got paint on Lindsey's shirt and pretended to be dead, but, but, "but they were mean to us!"

"How so? Lindsey tried to be nice and you got paint on her."

"Mum," Mycroft said, not wanting Sherlock to get more distressed. It seemed he had been smacked only for the fake crime scene and shattered test tube. The nannies leaving hadn't played into it. "I think that was mainly my fault. I corrected her geography‒she thought the Alps were in Nepal‒I wasn't rude to her though, honest! I offered to clean her shirt!"

Mrs. Holmes sighed and Mycroft continued. "And Ms. Twaddle was just…weird."

Sherlock jumped in. "She made a gigantic pot of boiled vegetables for snack and wouldn't let us leave the table until we ate it all."

"Is that why I found all that mush under the table?" She mused. "I thought Redbeard had been sick."

"No, that wasn't dog barf, that was our snack." Mycroft said.

"I wanted to practice violin and she told me I was making a racket and then I was working on my plants and she told me to be quiet and she locked me in the kitchen."

Mrs. Holmes stared down at her sons. This had been a rough week for all of them. The boys were still adjusting then it would just be wrong to punish them on top of the stress of the changes of her new job and new people coming into the home. She didn't regret smacking Sherlock for pretending to be dead for Ms. Twaddle‒for heaven's sake if he had done that to _her_ she would have spanked him. She sighed and sank to the sofa between them, pulling them close.

"Alright." She said. "You get _one more_ chance. But if the next nanny quits because of your behavior after the first week, you're _both_ getting your bottoms blistered‒no excuses."

"Yes, mum." They both murmured.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The Holmes' were in bed on Monday evening, getting ready to sleep. Mr. Holmes had taken a half day off of work to be with the boys.

"How was your first week at the college, dear?" He asked, working again on the crossword.

"Good." She said. "A little stressful, learning all the new students and getting a bundle of papers everyday to grade, but it's the right amount of work. My day goes quickly and my colleagues are pleasant enough. I wanted to tell you‒" she patted his leg, "a literature professor there named Susan has a nanny who knows someone who's interested in some part time work‒Elizabeth Hudson she said her name was."

"Oh really? That's great." Mr. Holmes erased _Aristotle_ from the boxes when the letter count didn't fit.

"Try _Socrates_." She murmured, looking at the clue.

"Ah," he nodded. "thank you, dear."

"Susan gave me her number, so we can call her tomorrow to ask her over to interview and meet the boys." She sighed. "I hope we find someone who works out. If this keeps up, I'll have to quit!"

"No." He said. "If it keeps up, we’re going to have a long, long talk with the boys about behaving. They might have disagreed with the nannies, but enough is enough."

They were both quiet, contemplating their children. Every parent thought their child was a beautiful little genius. The Holmes boys though….actually were geniuses. Mrs. Holmes hadn't been lying to Ms. Twaddle. They were both doing advanced work in school and had special tutoring and both boys' bookshelves were filled with University-level texts. Mycroft was gravitating heavily towards politics and already had expressed an interest in getting a University degree in "something for the government." Sherlock, on the other hand, was constantly doing chemistry and biology experiments. He'd gone so far as to steal chemicals from the school's stores for his own use. Fortunately the teacher liked him and indulged his intelligence but even she drew the line at stealing. They weren't typical children and never had been.

Mr. Holmes put down the completed crossword. "Third time's a charm, they say."

* * *

 

Mrs. Elizabeth Hudson strolled up the front walk of the Holmes residence the next evening. She paused on the stoop and glanced over her purple skirt and dark top and clutched her bag tight. Susan had spoken to her briefly, warning her that the Holmes' seemed to be very nice people but their boys sounded, well, 'different' was the word she used. Mrs. Hudson liked different though. And she wasn't one to step away from a challenge. She rang the bell and waited.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock hissed. "She's here!" He jumped away from the upstairs window and both boys hid in the shadows at the top of the steps, watching their mother answer the door and escort the lady in purple inside. Redbeard trotted down the steps to investigate the new person in the house.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked him.

"I thought she'd be older." Mycroft said. "Like Mrs. Twat was."

"Come in, Mrs. Hudson." Mrs. Holmes escorted her to the parlor. The dog woofed and hopped around beside her.

"Oh, hello." Mrs. Hudson let him smell her hand and he licked it before disappearing back upstairs.

"He approves of you, Mrs. Hudson." Mrs. Holmes said with a smile.

"Elizabeth, please." She said. "Such a lovely home." She met Mr. Holmes and introductions were made all around and they soon all settled down with tea and biscuits.

"Well, Elizabeth, why don't we start with you? Can you tell us about yourself?"

"Of course. I'm married, but my husband and I, well, we're separated. He's in Florida for the next several months and to be completely honest I plan on divorcing him. I have four boys, ages ten to seventeen and I'm just looking for some part time work. They often go to my sister's after school to play with her children or they have activities after classes, so I've found myself with some time on my hands."

The Holmes' nodded along.

"We have two boys‒aged seven and twelve." Mr. Holmes told her. "We would need you to be here three days a week between the hours of say, two or three to six-ish."

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "That would be perfect."

"You wouldn't need to give them supper, but an after school snack and tea would be good."

"I can do that."

Mrs. Holmes looked towards her husband. "Our children…" she began, "they're very intelligent. I'll just be honest: they get extra tutoring in class and they read texts designed for University level students."

Mrs. Hudson blinked. "Goodness."

The parents nodded. "Yes, they’re generally well behaved…" Mrs. Holmes looked to her husband again, both of them mutually deciding not to mention that she was the third nanny in ten days. "But of course, boys being boys, they get into tiffs. They can have some pretty spectacular shouting matches. Sherlock tends to nick chemicals from school to use in his experiments. He knows he's not supposed to but he does now and then anyway‒"

"‒and keep him away from the knives." Mr. Holmes added. "He might have a fit, but just ignore it. If he sees he doesn't have an audience, he'll lose interest."

"God yes." Mrs. Holmes added. "Mycroft is very well spoken and very responsible, though lately he's been getting a little big for his britches-developing a bit of an attitude, you know how it is with teenage boys, he's getting to that age."

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "I know, alright. My second youngest, he's getting that way too."

"Usually when I tell them to stop doing whatever it is they're doing wrong, they stop." Mrs. Holmes said. "Whether or not they carry on while neither of us is looking, I don't know." She said honestly. "It's not terribly uncommon to find animal entrails in the bathtub or glass chemistry paraphernalia by the sink beside Sherlock's bath time pirate ship."

Mr. Holmes smiled. "It's a sort of mix of kindergarten and laboratory all over the house, so don't be alarmed."

"Does Mycroft not do experiments?" She asked.

"He'll sometimes help Sherlock, but he's more into books and reading and writing. He has these elaborate world maps on his walls that he made that show military strategy and invasion points. It's harmless, of course, but don't be surprised if you're ever in there. As far as we know, he's not taking over the world."

"Yet." Mr. Holmes chipped in cheerily.

"For discipline, I've found old fashioned methods work best." Mrs. Holmes shrugged hopelessly. She hadn't given the other nannies permission to smack the boys (and in hindsight she was glad she hadn't), but she got a good feeling from Mrs. Hudson. "I hope that doesn't bother you, but time outs never worked with either of them."

"Do they not stay put?"

"Oh they do. That's the problem. They would just spend the time reciting the Fibonacci Sequence to themselves or multiplying numbers by square roots‒I once put Sherlock in time out and when I called him out of the corner he elected to stay, saying that he was right in the middle of going through the periodic table and sequencing the elements numerically starting with the lowest denomination of atomic number, and that moving from that spot would disrupt his game."

"Gracious, and Sherlock is _seven_?"

"This happened when he was five, and yes, you're getting a sense of it now? It takes a great deal to get through to them to make them focus on what they did wrong. They'll remember not to swear when they have a mouthful of soap, and it's much easier for them to remember not use my good cooking pots for experiments when they have sore bottoms."

"I've spanked my own children." Mrs. Hudson said quietly. "As a last resort‒it's, it's difficult with four when you're on your own, you know?"

Both parents nodded in sympathy. "I understand." Mrs. Holmes said. "Don't be shy. If one of them is being a brat, what I do is tell them firmly to be more polite, then if that doesn't work, I threaten a spanking, then if that doesn't work, that's what they get. Though sometimes they do something so ridiculous that I go straight for the smacking. Like the other day?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded in interest.

"Sherlock pretended he killed himself with some of the kitchen knives. Sprayed ketchup and red paint everywhere, even." She shook her head. "That got him a spanking."

Mrs. Hudson was quiet for a moment, then said, "it sounds like he has a very vivid imagination."

Mr. Holmes grinned. "He sure thinks of enough creative ways to turn my hair greyer!"

They all laughed.

"They don't usually get that far though." Mr. Holmes added. "A warning is usually enough, but since they don’t know you, you might need to prove it to them first."

Mrs. Holmes laughed humorlessly. "If this hasn't scared you away‒"

"‒it hasn't."

"Splendid! Of course, I'd like the boys to come down and meet with you, and I think a sort of trial period would be wise‒a 'getting to know you' time so you can decide if you want to stay and…"

"…you can decide if you want to keep me?" Mrs. Hudson offered.

"Well, in a way, yes."

"I agree." She said. "A trial run sounds like an excellent idea."

"Perfect." Mrs. Holmes stood up. "Boys!" She called. Seconds later, two sets of feet sounded on the stairs and Mycroft strode into the room. Sherlock followed, peeking out at her from behind his brother.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft extended his hand for a shake. "My name is Mycroft and this is my brother, Sherlock." He gestured to the smaller boy.

"Hi." Sherlock peeped.

They were two of the most adorable children she'd ever seen . Mycroft had soft red-blonde hair and a round little nose with a dash of freckles sprinkled across it. Sherlock's hair by contrast was a dark, dark brown, and his ice-blue eyes were wide with curiosity and shyness. Mycroft was approaching a growth spurt, she could tell by his slightly gangly limbs and slight disproportion. Sherlock was smaller, not quite at that age yet. But she was sure they would both be tall like their father.

"Hello Mycroft, Sherlock. I'm Mrs. Hudson."

 


	5. Chapter 5

The coming Friday, three days later, was to be Mrs. Hudson's first day with the boys. She called Mrs. Holmes the night before to clarify any last minute things. She was glad she did, the poor woman sounded frazzled.

_"Oh, Mikey was sent to the headmaster's office again for arguing with his geography teacher. Apparently he called him a dolt in front of the whole class."_

She said it like it was as regular as the sunrise and Mrs. Hudson smiled.

_"I had to pick him up from school and I have a thousand tests to grade before tomorrow. When they come home they'll be a hungry but they won't need anything big, just something to tide them over until supper‒yogurt or tea and a biscuit or a piece of fruit. They'll tell you what they'd like. Mikey has been eating like a horse lately so he can have a bit extra. I know you know all this, Elizabeth, please don't think I'm patronizing you but it's just a mother's way."_

"I know, Polly." Mrs. Hudson said gently. "I understand your position. When I was in Florida with my husband I needed to nanny my boys. It's difficult to leave them with a stranger."

_"Oh, bless your heart. I think you'll be fine."_

They spoke a bit more about what time she should arrive to the house and where the spare key was outside. Mrs. Hudson hung up and went to the kitchen, grabbing her apron and wrapping it on. She decided to bake a little treat for her new charges as a sort of 'getting to know you' gift. Her own boys were fond of homemade hazelnut biscuits, and she could whip up a batch quickly.

* * *

 

She arrived to the home just before three the next day, parking in the road along the curb. She gathered up the basket of biscuits and found the key under the rock by the bush, then went inside. The home was dark and quiet save for a _whump_ upstairs. Redbeard came down the steps, wagging his whole body in delight and panting happily and she closed the door behind. She appreciated the Holmes' position and appreciated their trust in her. "It's hard." She murmured to herself as she went into the kitchen and turned on the light. She did some light cleaning, familiarizing herself with the kitchen and putting the dry breakfast dishes in the draining board away and she soon heard the front door opening.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft called. He was sliding out of his jacket and pulling off his shoes, putting them neatly off to the side in the hall closet.

"Hello, Mycroft. How was school?"

"Fine." He muttered. "My geography teacher is still a dolt, but what can you do…"

"Where's your brother?" She asked. Redbeard wedged himself into the hall closet.

"Follow the dog." He advised, pointing. "Wherever Sherlock goes, so does he."

So she went to the hall closet and crouched, pushing aside the coats. She had to bite her lip at the adorable sight. Sherlock was leaning against the back wall in his little school uniform and Redbeard was crammed up next to him, tail wagging. It seemed as long as the boy was near, he was content. Sherlock watched her with luminous eyes.

"Hello, there." She said.

"Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft called, "can I please make some tea?"

"Of course, dear." She called. "Be careful with the hot water…" She was still concerned about Sherlock, hiding.

"Do you want to come out of there, darling?"

He stared at her suspiciously.

"I brought a treat that's perfect for a good boy's after school snack."

"M'not a good boy." He told her. "Today Patrick O'Malley called me a freak."

"Well, Patrick O'Malley is wrong. But that doesn't mean you're not a good boy."

"I pushed him down into a mud puddle. He cried."

"Oh, well. Yes that was a bit not good."

He didn't _smile_ persay, but his features softened.

"Come on out of there, Mycroft is making us tea."

"Are you making vegetables?" He asked.

"No. Do you want vegetables?"

"No."

"Well, that's a relief. I only have biscuits, but if you'd _prefer_ fruits and veggies, I'm sure I could‒"

"‒biscuits are fine." Sherlock got up and brushed himself off, then she watched him walk into the kitchen. So much for being nervous.

* * *

 

Mrs. Hudson was expecting a veritable hailstorm of boundary testing and talk back, but the first week was surprisingly mild and both boys were respectful and slightly hesitant around her, eager to please. She came over Monday, Tuesday, and Friday and prepared their after school meals. Sherlock's eyes latched on to her from the moment he walked through the door to the moment she left the home in the evening, watching, digesting, and calculating. They went for a walk in the park on her second week when it was warm out. Sherlock went ahead of them and collected leaves to categorize later and Mycroft gave Mrs. Hudson his opinion on the current mayor of London and his policies as they strolled. They really _were_ very bright children. Sherlock muttered the Latin names of every leaf he found before pressing them carefully into a little hardback notebook with a colorful cartoon pirate on the cover. "Sherlock, do you want to walk beside us?" She asked. "You can hold my hand."

He looked at her mistrustfully and shook his head.

"He warms up slowly." Mycroft told her. "To be honest, he's taken to you very well."

"Oh, that's good to hear." She said. "He hasn't pretended to kill himself out of protest."

Mycroft smiled. "Not yet."

Mrs. Holmes called her on Saturday afternoon and asked if she'd like the position for good. Mrs. Hudson didn't hesitate and said yes and to her surprise, a large colorful bouquet of flowers was delivered to her home the next day. It was sweet, but a little bit odd, not unlike the children she supposed. She put the flowers in a vase and kept them watered.

The third week started off just fine, but on Tuesday after their tea, feathers started to get ruffled. Both boys were upstairs working on homework and she was in the kitchen reading a novel. All was quiet and calm. A loud _thump,_ a wail, and a flurry of barking made her sigh and put her book down. The boys were in the hall outside Mycroft's door and Sherlock was on the floor, rubbing his head. Mycroft was standing over him and as Mrs. Hudson rounded the corner, he kicked his little brother.

"Mycroft!" Mrs. Hudson snapped. Sherlock yipped and punched him in the side of the knee. Redbeard barked at both of them.

"Ow!" Mycroft shouted. "Stay out of my room, you little idiot! You're ruining everything." He turned and stormed into his bedroom and Sherlock watched him go, his eyes filling with tears.

"Mycroft Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson stuck her foot between the door and jamb before he could slam it. "Apologize to your brother."

She could barely be heard over the barking dog and Sherlock pulled him close. He went silent, panting and happy.

"No." Mycroft said.

"Apologize right now!"

"There's nothing to apologize for. He _is_ an idiot."

That was quite enough of that. She took him by the ear and pulled him into the hallway. Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Ow‒let me go!" He swatted at her hand.

"I most certainly will not. Not until you apologize."

Sherlock was getting to his feet, his face teary, watching them both.

"Fine! Sherlock, you're not an idiot. I'm sorry I called you one."

"Th-that's okay…"

Mrs. Hudson let him go. "Thank you."

He stormed into his room, rubbing his ear, and closed the door. Sherlock took two steps back and darted down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson sighed and went after him, entering the dark sitting room.

"Sherlock?" She called. Redbeard ran over to a dining chair and crawled underneath and she saw a slight movement by one of the legs. She crouched down and spoke to him, shrouded in the late afternoon shadows. He was clutching a book to his chest.

"Are you alright, love?" She asked.

He nodded solemnly.

"Why don't we sit on the sofa and read your book together?"

He thought about this for a moment, then crawled out from behind the chair.

"There we are." She stood and he reached both arms up, clearly asking to be picked up. "Oh Lord," she mumbled, thinking of her back. "I'll try." She bent and grasped him, pulling him up with only a very quiet groan and settling him on her hip. He _was_ a bit too big for this, but he was just so adorable that she didn't mind. He seemed satisfied and he hugged the book to his chest again. She wiped tears from his face.

"Come on, let's sit down." She said, moving to an armchair. They sat and she settled him on her knees, putting an afghan over both their laps. "There now. What book do you have?"

"Mum and dad let me read it." He hugged it tight, almost defensively. "Ms. Nichols says it's too advanced for me but she's a dolt!"

Mrs. Hudson forced herself not to laugh. "What's the title?"

He swallowed and held it out to her and she read the title aloud. " _Chemistry: A Self-Teaching Guide to Common Problems and Concepts."_ She had to remind herself once again that he was a _very smart_ seven year old. She flipped it open and was greeted with colored diagrams of organic chemistry models and lots of text.

"This looks interesting." She told him. "Have you read it?

"Yes. A few times. Librarian at school never lets me check it out so I took it. She says it's not appropriate and gave me Nancy Drew books instead. She solves problems…" he looked away, picking at the book's spine and shrugged.

"Do you like to solve problems?"

"Yes." He said. "Like when dad lost his glasses. Everyone was looking in the sofa but I remembered that he had been outside in the garden so I looked there and they were in the tomatoes. There was a spider on the lens so I shook the glasses until it fell off and‒" his face brightened, "‒did you know that you can make fire from glasses? I read it in _Lord of the Flies_ when they use glasses to start a campfire. I figured out how to do it and then I set the spider on fire."

Well that was morbid.

"I'm sure your dad was very happy you found them."

"Yeah he was. He called me clever."

"You are very clever to be reading such a big book."

Sherlock settled against her and opened it up.

"Do you want to read to me?" She asked.

"'Kay." He started reading from the top of a random page.


	6. Chapter 6

For the next month or so, everything was going fine. The boys warmed up to her and even though Mycroft was sometimes disdainful of her presence, claiming he was big enough to not need a nanny, they all got along fairly well.

She got a phone call from Mrs. Holmes one afternoon while she was there with the boys, wrangling a frying pan away from Sherlock.

_"Elizabeth, would you be able to stay a few extra minutes tonight? James and I want to ask you something."_

"Sure." She said, "oh hold on a moment."

Mrs. Holmes listened to the conversation.

_"Sherlock, where are you going with that frying pan?"_

_"I'm doing an experiment."_

_"You can't use your mother's pots for experiments‒remember what happened last time?"_

Polly smirked and Sherlock wailed in protest on the other end of the phone.

_"No, darling."_ Mrs. Hudson said. _"How about you wait a few minutes and I can help you?"_

More sounds of protest and Mrs. Hudson picked up the phone again.

"Hello Polly, yes, I can stay."

"Bless your soul."

* * *

 

The three adults were seated at the kitchen table that evening with cups of coffee in front of them.

"Elizabeth," Mrs. Holmes said, "we have a huge favor to ask and if it's too much, just tell us. James and I have been thinking of going on holiday…just the two of us for a weekend, and we'd like to ask you to stay with the boys. I know you have your own and the summer break is coming up, so please, if this is completely out of the question let us know." Mrs. Holmes paused, letting her think.

"When?" She asked after a moment. "My youngest boys are going away to camp for a weekend soon and the other ones can be home alone for a few days."

"Are you sure?"

"Certainly. My two oldest have been looking for independence, just like Mycroft. They would _adore_ having the house to themselves for a weekend."

"We're flexible." Mr. Holmes said hastily. "Whatever weekend works for you, let us know."

Mrs. Hudson's purse was hanging on the kitchen chair and she reached into it, pulling out her planner. "Let me see…" She opened it up and smiled. Sherlock had written 'bring biscuits' on every Friday afternoon.

"Their camp is the last weekend of May." She said. "That would work best for me."

"Then that's what we'll do." Mrs. Holmes said. "Thank you so much. It's so hard to get away, what with school and work and the children."

"It’s no problem." Mrs. Hudson said. "I enjoy them. They're sweeties, really."

* * *

 

The last weekend in May came around with bright golden sunshine. Winter felt officially gone for good and despite the occasional lingering chill in the air, it was earthy and fresh and warm outside.

Sherlock was waiting for Mycroft by the bicycle rack outside of the school that Friday. Mrs. Hudson was to watch them the whole weekend while mum and dad were on holiday doing bird watching or dancing or such. He was glad not to be dragged along and he hoped Mrs. Hudson had brought biscuits for the weekend. He glanced around, not seeing his brother. That happened sometimes. Sherlock could just walk home alone if Mycroft was busy‒and he would definitely walk today, it was so nice outside, but usually Mycroft at least met him first. He heard voices behind the school building and watched, listening. Mycroft came around the side of the school deep in discussion with Ryan O'Malley and David Jackson. Sherlock hoisted his bag higher on his shoulders and went over to them.

"Take the bus by yourself, Sherlock." Mycroft said over his shoulder. "I'm busy."

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft ignored him and walked away with the other boys and Sherlock scowled. Fine, if Mycroft wouldn't tell him, he would just have to follow.

* * *

 

Mrs. Hudson peeked out the front window at the Holmes house. It was nearly four and the boys weren't home yet. Usually they were back right around three fifteen or so. Mycroft would call her from the school if they were running late‒something she appreciated. Today though, there had been no call. She crossed her arms, reasoning that it was nice outside and maybe the boys were talking a long walk to get home. That made sense. Or perhaps they had stopped off at the chemist's for sweets.

* * *

 

Sherlock crept around the corner of the chemist's shop. He was very proud of himself for following his brother this far. He was distracted by his friends and hadn't seemed to notice his shadow. The seven year old wondered what Mycroft could possibly need. Mum had stocked up on _everything_ before they left this morning. He waited outside the door, between the chemist's and the violin shop, hiding in the shadows and curious about what his brother would come outside with. Maybe it would be sweets and chocolates.

* * *

 

At four twenty a worried Mrs. Hudson called the school.

_"Neither Holmes boy has come to the office."_ The secretary said to her. _"I can check the halls for you, but I'm fairly positive I saw Sherlock leave on time."_

"Thank you. I'll wait on the line if you don't mind." Mrs. Hudson twisted the cord in her fingers and watched out the window, hoping that the boys would show up any moment. What if something had happened? What if they had been kidnapped or were hurt somewhere? She bit her lip and drummed her fingers on the table, unable to stop the awful images in her mind. Goodness, anything could have happened. She _hoped_ the secretary would tell her they were safe and sound in the school somewhere. The Holmes' had trusted her and day one of their long weekend together was not going well.

* * *

  
The bell above the chemist door _dinged_ and Mycroft came out with his mates and a paper bag, going straight up the pavement in the opposite direction. Sherlock scurried after, ducking behind bins and into doorways as the older boys headed off. This was kind of fun, he decided. He felt like a super spy trailing a villain to his lair.

The lair turned out to be a park and Sherlock hid in some bushes as Mycroft and the other boys ducked behind a brick wall near the tennis court and pulled packets of cigarettes out of the paper bag. They each lit one, the smoke rising over the wall. Sherlock blinked. Mycroft wasn't even coughing. How long had he been smoking? Didn't he know smoking was bad for him? He jumped out of the bushes and trotted over to his brother.

"Oh hell." David muttered. Mycroft turned around and coughed.

"Sherlock! What the hell are you doing here?! I told you to go home!"

"And I wanted to see what you were doing!" Sherlock announced.

"So you followed me like an annoying little git. Jesus Christ." He took a long drag on his cigarette and snuffed it. "I'm taking you home right now." He waved at his friends and took Sherlock by the arm, dragging him along. "Why didn't you listen to me?" Mycroft hissed.

"Because I wanted to know what you were doing. We always walk home together and today you were with _them._ How long have you been smoking? _"_

"Don't say _a word_ about the smoking to mum or dad or Mrs. Hudson or I'll beat you up."

"It's been that long? How have you been hiding it?"

"Shut up! Mrs. Hudson is going to murder us both‒it's half four!"

They paced towards the house as the light started to change to twilight. They pushed through the front door and an excited Redbeard danced around them both while a very annoyed Mrs. Hudson stood in the foyer, arms crossed and face stern, tapping her foot.

 


	7. Chapter 7

"Are you two okay?" She uncrossed her arms.

"Yes." Mycroft grumbled. He shut the door and they both put their bags down and toed out of their shoes.

"Thank God. Where were you?"

"Out." Mycroft muttered. "I had to stop somewhere after class."

"And you couldn't call me to let me know? I was worried sick about you two!"

"I'm sorry." Mycroft's tone was snotty. "I forgot."

"And Sherlock?" She looked down at the younger boy, eyes cast down and arms crossed, fidgeting in the wake of Mrs. Hudson's anger.

"He followed me!" Mycroft said.

"I wanted to see where he was going!" Sherlock squawked. "I told him we had to come home!"

"If you hadn't been following me none of this would have happened!" Mycroft yelled. Redbeard yipped at him.

"It most certainly would have!" Mrs. Hudson said firmly. "Both of you should have come _straight_ home after school. I had no idea where you were and I was worried half to death!"

"I didn't want to make you worry‒" Sherlock said. "I just wanted to see where Mikey went."

"Don't call me that!"

Mrs. Hudson sniffed the air then, noticing an unusual but insidious scent.

"Were you two _smoking_?" She said, incredulous.

"No!" Sherlock blurted. "I wasn't."

"My friends were." Mycroft told her. She gave them the Look and both boys shivered. The only other woman who could do the Look was their mother, and on Mrs. Hudson it was just as terrifying.

"Were _you_ smoking, Mycroft?" She stared down at him and he briefly thought about lying.

"Don't you dare lie to me, young man." She said in a soft, severe tone. He blinked. She really was just like mother.

"Yes." He sighed at the floor.

"I see."

Sherlock was on the verge of tears and Mycroft looked ready to punch something‒probably his brother. Mrs. Hudson knew she needed to punish them‒of that she had no doubt, but what? Somehow sending them to their rooms didn't seem firm enough. They spent a lot of time there anyway. She remembered her interview, and the Holmes parents telling her that they spanked their children. _"Don't be shy."_ That's what Polly had said. Well, she wasn't feeling very shy at the moment.

"Both of you go upstairs and change your clothes, then get right back down here _."_

They both darted up the steps, then came back down in jeans and shirts, watching her warily.

"Get in the sitting room!" She snapped.

"Why?" Mycroft asked.

"Because we are going to have a little chat and then both of you are getting a spanking! Now move!"

Sherlock burst into tears and Redbeard started barking like crazy. Mycroft gulped. "Mrs. Hudson," he began, "surely there's another‒"

"It's all your fault, Mycroft!" Sherlock shoved him hard and Redbeard howled.

"Enough!" Mrs. Hudson grabbed the dog's collar and pushed him into the garden so he wouldn't get underfoot, then took both boys by the forearm and pulled them into the sitting room. "Sit." She pointed at the sofa and they scurried. Sherlock's tears had dried up and he wiped his face.

"Tell me what happened‒smoking included."

Sherlock started, telling her how he was looking for Mycroft after classes and followed him. Mycroft told his side, telling her about meeting his mates to buy cigarettes and smoking in the park. There was no point in trying to lie. Mrs. Hudson was like mother and would see right through it.

"I see." She said at the end of their tale. "That was extremely stupid, Mycroft. Smoking? You're such a bright boy‒you know better than that."

"Yes Mrs. Hudson." He said.

"And Sherlock, you know you're to come straight home or let me know first if you'll be late. Following your brother isn’t an excuse! I worried for you both. I almost called your parents!"

"No!" Mycroft said, looking at her with wide eyes. "Don't tell them!"

"I have to tell them now. I'm giving you both spankings and I'm going to tell them as soon as we're finished."

Sherlock hung his head and Mycroft let out a quiet sigh. He didn’t really have an eloquent argument to get out of it this time. He'd managed to convince his mum not to swat them after Ms. Twat left the house, but Mrs. Hudson's mind seemed pretty made up.

"Don't spank Sherlock." He said. "I was the one who went off after class, I was smoking. Just smack me instead."

"That's very noble of you, Mycroft." She said to him gently, "but I'm afraid Sherlock isn't an innocent here. His curiosity got the better of him this time, right Sherlock?"

"I just wanted to see where he was going…" Sherlock mumbled.

"Right?" She pressed.

"Yes."

"Good boy. Sherlock, go wait your turn in the corner."

"Mrs. Hudson!" He leaped up and grabbed her in a hard hug. "No! I don’t want a spanking! It hurts!"

"That's rather the point, dear." She took him firmly by the arm, guiding him to the corner by the door. He went, a pout on his face. "Now you stand here and don't move."

She sat on the sofa and Mycroft stood up to face her with a quiet, resigned sigh. "Why are you getting this spanking?" She asked.

"Because I didn't come straight home after classes, and I didn't let you know. You worried about us both and I was smoking."

"That's right. I was worried _sick_ , Mycroft. Anyone could have grabbed you both. And with your parents away? I didn't want to have to make that phone call‒your mum and dad would have been frantic. And promise me you'll never smoke again!"

"I understand." He said, hanging his head. "And I won't. It was wrong to make you worry and I shouldn't have gone off after class."

"Very good. Unfasten and unzip."

He took a deep breath and popped the button and zipped down. She lifted her arms and he bent over her lap and she pulled his loosened clothes to his knees, baring his bottom. He grabbed the cushion and crossed his ankles to brace himself and she slipped the ring off her right finger and put it on the table, then straightened up and ensured she had a good grip on his waist. She wasted no time and set in spanking hard and fast with her hand.

"You know to come straight home from school." She said to him. _Swat, smack, swat!_ "You do not go anywhere without letting me know!"

"Ow! It was only for a bit!" He countered, squirming over her lap. _Smack, smack, smack!_ Sherlock had turned and was watching over his shoulder with a resigned, teary expression.

"You didn't get home until well after four! For the smoking alone you deserve this, young man!" She smacked him a few more times, hard, then stopped and looked over his bottom. His cheeks were dusted with pink and he was gripping a pillow off the sofa with two tight fists. She adjusted his position and kept swatting. "I was worried sick‒what if you were both hurt or kidnapped? What would your parents say?"

He was staying fairly still, considering how much this must be stinging. She swatted her own boys when they deserved it, and she knew she could give a hell of a spanking. Mycroft's theory seemed to be to brace himself on whatever was around in order to stay still and ride it out stoically. Whether it be by grabbing the cushions or crossing his ankles, it did look like he was trying to wriggle as little as possible and she reasoned that their mum must not tolerate much writhing and squirming.

"We weren't kidnapped!" Mycroft's voice was thick with tears. "Ow! And mum would spank us too! Ow! Stop!"

"With good reason. I nearly called the police on you. Or your mother!"

"I'm sorry!" He yelped. She swatted his thighs and he grunted. "I didn't mean to. Don't tell mum!" He added in a horrified voice, jerking his head up and looking at her. "She‒ow!‒She'll whack us both!"

That would be unfair, Mrs. Hudson thought. She'd speak with Mrs. Holmes and tell her what happened, of course, but suggest that the boys had been punished enough. "I'll speak with her. We'd better not need to have this discussion again, Mycroft." She said. _Smack, smack, swat,_ "because next time it will be done with a wooden spoon!" She stopped spanking him and glanced again over his bum. It was an impressive shade of rose and he was shuddering with tears, trying to be brave. It was here that she stopped.

"Alright." She patted his shoulder. "Alright now, it's done."

"M'sorry." He sniffed and let go of the cushions, going limp now that it was done.

"I know." She rubbed her hand over his back, calming him as he panted over her lap.

"I'll t-tell you next time…"

"Good. And?"

"And I won't smoke again."

"Good boy."

She patted his back for a few more moments until he was ready. He got up, standing on shaky legs and pulling up his clothes. Mrs. Hudson wiped his face clear of tears and enveloped him in a hug.

"I care for you boys." She said to him, squeezing him tight. "If anything happened to either of you I would be devastated. Don't do this again."

"I won't." He said in a small voice.

"Good lad. Trade places with your brother now."

He stepped away from her and headed for the corner.

"Sherlock." She called.

"I don't want it!" He yelled. "I know I did something wrong‒I don't want to get spanked!"

"Neither did your brother." She said firmly. "But he took his punishment. Stop fussing and come over here."

It was so hard to be firm with them. They were usually decently behaved…for the most part…except for the knives and the fake blood and cooking pot experiments and the setting things on fire with glasses. They were lambs and she'd never had to come down so hard on them before.

"Sherlock, go." Mycroft wiped his eyes, gratefully accepting a tissue from Mrs. Hudson, and gave his brother a little push.

"No!" Sherlock said stubbornly. With a weary sigh, Mycroft shepherded his little brother towards her.

Mrs. Hudson took his arm when he was in reach and he started to struggle. "No, no Mrs. Hudson‒don't smack me…" He looked away mournfully and she felt like the world's worst person.

"He does that sad face when he tries to get out of things." Mycroft told her.

Mrs. Hudson tilted his chin up, looking him in the eye. "Sherlock, I'm only doing this to keep you safe."

He sniffed.

"Now, why are getting a spanking?"

"'Cuz I followed Mycroft and didn't come home or tell you anything." He said.

"That's right. I don't want either of you to get hurt and it was really scary when you didn't come home. You're both very bright and you know better than that. You both made a mistake so you're both getting punished for it. Understand?" She said.

He nodded.

"Okay, then. After this, we'll have dinner and a nice bath, and then we can have milk and a biscuit and some telly before bed. How does that sound?"

He nodded, perking significantly at the word 'biscuit.' "Did you buy them or make them?" He asked.

"I made them." Her eyes twinkled and he grinned. "But first," she said. "Spanking time. Take your trousers and pants down like your brother did."

He did, unzipping and unbuttoning and she tipped him over her knee. His feet and hands didn't reach the ground and she adjusted him on her lap so he could rest on the sofa seat. He was sniffling again and she knew just getting it over with was the best way to go. She smacked him hard and fast, just like with Mycroft.

"Ow! Ow!" Unlike his brother, Sherlock couldn't be bothered with staying still. He squirmed and yelped, wailed and scrabbled over her knee.

"Hold _still."_ She said firmly. "I don't want you to fall." _Smack, smack, thwack._ She held him in place with her free hand, bracing him so he couldn't wriggle off her lap.

"Ow! Mrs. Hudson‒ow!"

She trapped his flailing legs under hers and peppered his bottom with sharp swats. "This was naughty, Sherlock. You know to call me if you'll be late." She felt a bit like she was belaboring the point, but she wanted to get through to him just how frightened she'd been. The boys' mother had told her that it was old fashioned methods that worked best, and it seemed he was having no trouble focusing on this. "If you suspected Mycroft was doing something wrong, you should have told me, not followed him yourself." _Smack, slap, slap!_

Mycroft was leaning in the corner, watching sadly as his brother got spanked.

"I was curious!" He shouted into the sofa. "Don't smack me for being curious!"

"I'm not smacking you because you're curious, dear." She said, pausing for a moment, "I love that you're curious. Stay curious, just don't break any rules because of it." _Smack, smack!_

"I won't!" He yelped. "Ow! I won't break any rule ever again and I'll always think before being curious!"

She smiled. "Then you won't get spanked nearly as often, I think." She stopped spanking him and glanced over his bottom. It was about the same color as Mycroft's, so she patted his back and shushed him. He'd broken a sweat from writhing around so much and was panting into the sofa.

"Hush, hush now…" She stroked his back some more and he sniffled. "Come up here, sweetheart." Her voice was gentled and she wasted no time hugging him. "There's my good boy…" She patted his back again and he clung tight while she fixed his clothes. "There, there…" she rubbed his back and he shuddered, quieting in her embrace.

"Alright?" She leaned back and looked into his wet eyes.

He nodded.

"Good lad." She called for Mycroft and he came out of the corner.

"Both of you were so brave for taking that and I'm proud of you both."

"Thank you." Mycroft said. She gave them a final hug and looked at her watch. It was past supper time and she really didn't feel much like cooking. Both boys looked exhausted.

"What would you like for supper?" She asked. "Would some sandwiches be alright?"

Two enthusiastic nods.

"Good." She got up and they both followed her into the kitchen. "Do you want to help?" She asked kindly. "You can toast some bread."

Mycroft got the bread loaf and Sherlock let Redbeard inside. The dog licked his face clean and then disappeared under the table. Sherlock stayed close to Mrs. Hudson as she went to the fridge and gathered the ingredients. He clutched her skirt with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other, following her placidly as she made them all sandwiches, ham and cheese and turkey and tomato. She cut the crusts off as requested and they all ate hungrily, splitting a bag of crisps.

"You two look done in." She mentioned when they were finished. She took their dishes and piled them up. "Why don't you both get ready for bed? Mycroft, do you want to use the shower first?"

He nodded and went up the steps and she looked down at Sherlock, her heart melting as she saw he was still was still holding onto her. "Sleepy?" She asked.

"No." He yawned.

"I think you are. Do you want a biscuit while we wait for Mycroft?"

"Yes!" His eyes gleamed and she went to her purse, hanging by the front door, and pulled a plastic container of biscuits out. Sherlock bounced around as she brought them to the kitchen and opened it up. "Here. Take _one."_ She held it out to him and he delicately picked a chocolate and raspberry cream biscuit, bringing it to his lips and crunching.

"Mmm." He giggled and Redbeard licked the crumbs from his face.

"Go on up and get your clothes together for bed."

Sherlock did, going up the steps.

Mrs. Hudson watched him go, then picked up the phone and dialed the number Mr. Holmes had left for her. It rang twice.

 _"Elizabeth?"_ Polly answered. _"Is everything okay? What's wrong?"_

"Everything is fine, Polly. Both boys are fine. We had a little, ah, incident today‒nothing major, but…"

She explained how neither boy came home after school and the smoking and how worried she'd been.

"I feared the worst, I really did. I'm afraid I spanked both of them."

_"As you should have! The little hellions deserved it! Smoking! I can't believe that little rascal."_

"I'm glad you agree." Mrs. Hudson nodded and felt relieved. It would be awful if the Holmes' thought she'd been too harsh. "They're worried though, that when you return you're also going to spank them."

_"Oh no, it sounds like you took care of it just fine."_

They spoke briefly about the holiday and other goings-on and Mrs. Hudson hung up as both boys appeared, washed up and in pajamas. They each came down the steps in soft dressing gowns and damp hair.

"There we are." She said. "All clean. Sherlock, did you comb your hair?" She noted his mass of piled curls.

"No." Mycroft said, taking a poppy seed biscuit from the container. Sherlock scowled at him.

"How about I comb your hair while we watch telly?"

"Okay, I guess." Sherlock took a hazelnut biscuit and they went to the television with cups of milk and the biscuit container. Mycroft turned the telly on and Mrs. Hudson took a comb, settling Sherlock on her lap. He winced and she cooed over him. "Stings, does it?"

"A bit."

She put a pillow on her knee for him and he sat much more comfortably. She brushed out his curls and hid a grin as Mycroft cuddled against her side, sighing in contentment. They really were such dears, and she hoped she would get to be their nanny for a long time.

 

The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for your amazing comments! I love that you all love this silly fluffy spanky series as much as I do :D

**Author's Note:**

> TBC. Thanks for reading! Kudos/comments are always appreciated.


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